


Today's Goal

by dancemagic



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Clay, SEAL Team 2x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancemagic/pseuds/dancemagic
Summary: “Today’s Goal: No Pain”The words stare at Clay mockingly from the small whiteboard hanging on the wall across from his bed.Companion piece to episode 2x18, "Payback"





	Today's Goal

“Today’s Goal: No Pain”

The words stare at Clay mockingly from the small whiteboard hanging on the wall across from his bed.

He knows they’re supposed to be encouraging. That they mean he’s supposed to take his recovery one day at a time. That he’s supposed to tell the staff about his pain, work with them so they can help him control it before it controls him. 

Those are the lines they spout at him, anyway.

Well, that’s bullshit. 

Because he doesn’t care about the pain. He’s been trained to push pain away. Fight through it. Continue on to achieve the objective. 

And as bad as the physical pain is, it hurts just as much every time he hears his phone ping on the side table. 

Every time he wakes up from a dream about operating with Bravo only to find himself back in this damn bed. 

Every time Lisa’s eyes shift to his covered legs and he knows she’s wondering what devastation rests beneath the thin blanket.

Every time he looks at Swanny and sees his own future reflected back.

So no, he’s not going to achieve today’s goal of no pain. 

And he doesn’t care. 

What he cares about is _function_. 

Function is the only thing that will get him back to the life he’s mapped for himself. The only future he _wants_. And while he’s too afraid to admit it to anyone, in the back of his mind he _does_ think he can get back there. He just can’t let himself believe in it too much.

Clay throws everything he has into each physical therapy session. It’s the only time of day he feels like he might actually be making progress. 

He hates needing help with the most basic of physical movements, and he hates the motivational words etched on the wall of the PT room. And he _really_ hates being asked to describe the pain and to rank it on a scale of 1 to 10. Like he’s a five year old. 

But in therapy, Clay is able to give himself his own daily goals. Goals that actually matter, might mean something. And that’s all he has to hold onto right now.

Clay loves therapy.

++++++++++++++

Sonny hates therapy.

The quack is going on about how there are different types of pain – psychological, emotional, spiritual. 

Sonny doesn’t care about those kinds of pain when his friend is thousands of miles away in _real_ pain. 

The kind of pain that comes from being blown straight out of your own fucking shoes. 

The kind of pain left behind from jagged shrapnel sticking out of your thigh and too much of your blood on the grimy pavement. 

Sonny is self-aware enough to know that everything the doc is saying is true. And he knows each and every member of Bravo checks off every pain box there is. 

That doesn’t mean they need to _talk_ about it. That’s just not what they do, not how they work. They bottle it up, they pack it away, and they try to move on. 

Because if they give it a chance to take hold, it will overwhelm them. There’s simply too much of it.

The pain of seeing your friend dying on the pavement. Pleading for him to breathe, to be okay, while his blank eyes struggle to focus on you.

The pain of watching an ambulance drive away, terrified that you’ve seen your brother alive for the last time. 

The pain of watching the teammates you love and respect start to crumble around you, struggling with their own grief, or frustration, or doubt, but knowing you can’t do anything to fix it.

It’s too much, and if they let it in, there won’t be any coming back from it.

So Sonny gives himself a simple goal for the day:

No Pain.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm _pretty_ sure the whiteboard said No Pain, but if it didn't, let's just pretend it did.


End file.
